


Third Time Lucky

by elfin



Category: Ashes to Ashes (UK TV), Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 14:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfin/pseuds/elfin
Summary: As it turns out, Sam Tyler isn’t dead. Or rather, he is, but Gene didn’t kill him....





	Third Time Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> First written in 2010

Gene Hunt hates being upstaged.  That’s what Keats is doing.  Upstaging him, replacing him, undermining him.  Slowly, day by day, team member by team member.  Time was he knew when to fight people like Keats.  Like that smug bastard, Frank Morgan, up in Manchester back in ’73.  They’d sent him packing eventually, he and Sam, sent him back to Hyde with his tail between his legs after a botched train robbery that had almost got all of them killed.  

Thinking about Sam, thinking about that disastrous afternoon, makes his chest ache and leads him inevitably to the leather jacket locked in Bolly’s desk.  He should take it, burn it, along with any and everything else she’s got squirreled away.  But it’s all that’s left of him, something he hadn’t known existed until Drake had gone turning stones over, and he’s loathe to destroy it, to wipe Sam out the way he knows he should.

Staring out of the glass in his office door he thinks how old he’s feeling, how tired.  He came to London high on his successes in Manchester; still the leader of the pack, the Sheriff of his town, King of the Hill.  And for a while it seemed to be going well.  But Keats stepped in and now he’s the bad cop and Keats is everyone’s hero.  Maybe he has a point.  Maybe it’s time to step down, let the future take over.  Sam used to call him a troglodyte and back then it had just been Tyler speaking.  But recently it’s how he’s been feeling – trying to keep up with all these new procedures, new guidelines, new technologies.  The ones Sam warned him about.  Maybe it’s time to walk away.  

Reaching into his desk drawer he pulls out the bottle of Scotch he keeps stashed in there and stares at it.  Sam used to call him a borderline alcoholic.  Perhaps he’d been right, he’s never really thought about it, definitely hasn’t ever worried about it.  And he isn’t about to start now.  Unscrewing the top he takes a swig.  It’s time to step down, time to end this farce, time to quit.  He’ll have to keep an eye on Shaz, Ray and Bolly – anyone else who turns up – but it could be from afar.  That would work.  Someone else would quickly take his place.  

Taking a deep breath and with a decisive nod, he pushes his chair back and stands up, walks around his desk, and reaches for the door handle.

Gene hates being upstaged, but afterwards even he has to acknowledge that Ray bettered him in terms of sheer dramatic flare.  

He throws open his office door, opens his mouth to announce his sudden and probably unexpected intention to quit, and sees Ray and Chris standing in the middle of the room, grinning like they’d been handed an undercover job in a strip club.  

‘Look what we found.’ 

Gene’s unhappy response at being interrupted before he’s even started melts in the moment that follows.

As if rehearsed, Chris and Ray each take a step to the side, and Gene stares, speechless, at the man left facing him, a man who’s smiling like the summer sun.  

Strangely his first thought is that finally, here is a bloke who manages to look good in current fashions.  Then he starts smiling too.  

‘Sam.’ 

Large as life, Sam Tyler is standing in front of him, grinning like a loon, looking nothing – absolutely nothing – like a dead man.  

~

Sam Tyler knows Gene hates being upstaged.  He can see in it in his eyes.  And he’s sorry, but not very.  Whatever he was about to say, it can wait. Sam can’t. He doesn’t care about appearances. He strolls up to his old boss and wraps his arms purposely around his neck.

It’s good to hold him, good to press against his bulk, to feel his strength again after so long.  Gene had been his anchor, his best friend, his lover.  Then he’d gone away again, but now he’s back, here in this strange time but at least it’s one he remembers. Living the 1980s through again feels like a small price to pay.

Gene murmurs his name into his neck, like it’s all he can say, and by the weight of it, by the way Gene’s holding him, Sam’s certain he can get back what he lost, what he’s been missing.   He feels Gene lift his head eventually, looks up and catches warning glances shot over his shoulder at an undoubtedly smirking Ray and beaming Chris.  With a breath and a smile, Sam loosens his embrace and steps back but not away.  Gene won’t let him get away, hands resting – not clutching but almost – on his shoulders.  

He looks his old Guv up and down and has to admit, 

‘You look... good.  Great, actually.’ He does.  And Sam’s surprised.  He still smells like the inside of a pub – cigarette smoke and alcohol – and Sam knows he’s going to spend the next twenty years yearning for the smoking ban.  But he’s slimmer now, although whether that’s down to dieting or stress, he doesn’t want to speculate.  Chris and Ray look tired.  Chris’ hair looks ridiculous.

‘You look exactly the same,’ Gene tells him, still staring, apparently lost for any more words.  But he looks up when the main door opens and Sam glances over to watch a woman pause in mid-stride, half-in, half-out of the doors. He recognises her immediately – Alex Drake, the officer who was shot a few months back.  He doesn’t know if he’s surprised to see her or not but he sees triumph giving way to shock on her face and the next thing he knows the strong hands on his shoulders are turning him to face her and he relaxes and goes with it.  Sam’s pretty sure Drake recognises him too, given her expression, she’s more surprised to see him than he is to see her.

‘DI Drake, meet DCI Sam Tyler.’ 

Gene makes the introductions as his hands slide down Sam’s arms, stopping at his wrists, fingers resting against the backs of his hands.  It’s a strangely intimate position and Sam’s pulse quickens.  He imagines he can hear a soft bleeping noise, electronic, medical – but only for a moment.  He leans back just slightly against Gene, possessive, proprietary, as Gene adds, “I told you I didn’t kill him.”

Wait.  What?

~

Sitting at the corner of Gene’s desk, close enough that their shoulders are touching, Sam watches Gene pour two large Scotches.  He stares at the glasses and as he’s handed one, he asks, “Are these the same ones from...?”  Gene nods and Sam chuckles.  “Sentimental bastard.”

Gene shrugs, like he knows it’s going to be like this again and he doesn’t care.  “How did you...?”

Sam held up his hand.  “I did it properly this time.  Saved up, did my research, followed your instructions.  I’m safe, there’s money in a bank account.  There’s a date and a time, but I don’t know how that translates.”  He shrugs, he doesn’t know when he’s going to die in the future.  Chances are he’ll live long enough to visit himself, but that makes his brain ache.  “No one ever knows how much time they have left, do they?”

Gene nods his approval and it surprises him like it always used to how much Gene’s approval means to him.  “Good boy.  Nothing I can do about the numpties on the other side, but you can give yourself a fighting chance.  Listen, Sam... don’t think I don’t appreciate your timing or anything, but... why now?”

Wondering why his timing is important, he says, “It felt right.  Mum died two months ago... there was nothing left for me.  Besides, two years was enough, Guv,” he emphasises the word just to put that smile on Gene’s face, “all the iPods and mobile phones in the world couldn’t make up for how much I missed you.”

Gene shakes his head, empties his glass.  “I’d forgotten how much of a poof you are.” 

Sam thinks of the New Romantics and has a sudden urge to take Gene clubbing in West London.  “Speaking of, Gene... why the big city?”

His expression looks bleak for a moment and Sam shifts in his seat and knows the answer before he hears it. “Manchester wasn’t the same without you.”  

He tries to make light of it, “Now who’s being a poof?” but it doesn’t quite come out right and he too empties his glass with one swallow.  “What about Ray?”  Before he’d gone away for the second time, Gene had told him about Ray, about where he came from, who he really was.  Surprise didn’t come close to describing how Sam had reacted that morning, the ensuing fight had left both of them needing stitches.

“He’s no idea.  Still.  Shaz out there too.  Alex knows.  She was like you, from your time, a pain in the ass, banging on about procedure.”

Sam nods.  “I recognise Alex.  She was shot in the head.  Why does she think you killed me?”

Gene explains about Drake and Keats, although Sam thinks he’s holding something back, and thinks it’s probably something important, the way he’s avoiding saying it.  

“Felt like the walls were closing in, but I couldn’t exactly say you vanished before the car went in the canal, could I?  Didn’t know if you were alive or dead.  Couldn’t tell anyone anything so I kept my mouth shut.  When she got here, when she stopped fighting it, she got hold of your file and started asking questions.”

“You could you have told her, like you told me.”

Shaking his head, Gene lifts his chin, takes a deep breath and for a moment Sam feels uncomfortable.  “Rules, Sam.  I broke them for you.  You’re the only one I’ve ever told.  And that were under extenuating circumstances.”

The moment fades and Sam grins.  “I had my mouth around your dick.”

He loves making Gene blush.  “Sommat like that, yes.”

“You loved it.”  That’s something he can’t deny, and as he opens his mouth to retort, Sam leans across the short distance and kisses him.  Gene opens his mouth, welcomes Sam’s tongue and hums softly.  It makes his heart beat too fast, all his blood floods south and he gets that light feeling in his stomach, the same one he always gets, every time he thinks about this.  All the time he put into his recent suicide attempt, it’s been worth every second and every penny to have this again.

And it is of course the moment Drake chooses to come bursting in, as put off by closed doors and shuttered blinds as Sam remembers never being.  The expression of surprise on her face is almost comical as they break apart like naughty school children.  Sam glances at Gene but he doesn’t look the least bit apologetic or ashamed.  He’s scowling at her, as if he’s decided that this is as good a day as any to come out to his team.

“What do you want, Bolly?”

Bolly?  Sam frowns until he sees what she’s holding in her hands, then he’s out of his chair and around Gene’s desk in a second, taking what she’s offering.  His old leather jacket.

“Is that mine?”  He shrugs it on over his black shirt and it still fits.  He holds out his arms and looks from her to Gene as if he’s waiting for one of them to tell him he looks good.  Or more likely that he looks like a throwback from the 1970s.  “Thanks,” he tells her with a smile, and she smiles right back although it’s hardly full of happiness.

“I think there's a lot round here that's yours,” she says before she closes the door and when Sam looks back at Gene he asks, 

“Is there something between you two?”

Gene shrugs.  “There might have been, could have been.”

“If not for....

He rolls his eyes.  “If not for you, Dorothy!”  It feels good to be loved.

~

Luigi’s isn’t what he was expecting after the Railway Arms.  It surprises him that Gene’s swapped a pub for an Italian Restaurant that is obviously devoid of other customers, and Luigi himself is as far from Nelson as it’s possible to get.  But Gene doesn’t offer an explanation and Sam doesn’t ask for one.  As he and Gene lean on the bar, shoulder to shoulder, crowding in on each other like they always did, he hears Alex ask, “Were they always like this?” and Chris respond, “Ever since the boss, I mean, DI Tyler, turned up in Manchester - they were sort of inseparable.”

He smiles to himself, glances at Gene and when green eyes meet his own he smiles at Gene too.  They take a table close to the bar, Chris and Ray sitting on either side of him before Gene can get in with the drinks.  The expression on Gene’s face is one of disappointment, frustration and flash-point anger, but he doesn’t say anything, just sits down and picks up his pint, looking pointedly at Sam over it.

“Where have you been?” Ray asks, “we thought you were dead.” 

And Chris joins in, “We missed you, Boss. We thought you must have been swept out by the tide.”

Gene’s eyebrows rise as if daring him to answer that question even as he snaps, “It was a canal, Chris, there isn’t a tide!”  

But Sam’s planned this as well as he planned getting here.   “I had to disappear.  That investigation – I’d gone in too deep, I was in trouble and I had to vanish.  Gene knew, but he couldn’t say anything for all your sakes.  So he did what he had to do and I went abroad for a while, to Spain.  Ended up staying longer than I’d intended.”

“And you’re safe now, yeah?”  Gene rolls his eyes but Sam nods patiently, touched by their concern.

“Yes, Chris, I’m safe now.”

Happily, Chris settles into the task of drinking his beer.  And although Ray obviously isn’t completely buying it, at least he’s noticed the expression on Gene’s face and has the brains to keep quiet.  Drake stays away which surprises him - she must be bursting with questions - but she sits close to the back of the restaurant with Shaz and just watches them.  Every time he looks up she’s looking over at them.  No, not at them, at Gene. But Gene’s back is to her and Sam can’t help smiling, feeling just that little bit jealous and a lot possessive.  

It seems overly generous of Gene when he orders a second round, seeing as he paid for the first one, but half way into his second pint Ray gets up to take a leak and Gene moves swiftly into his chair.

Sam drops a slightly shy smile his way and leans forward, elbows on the table, so that when Gene does too, their shoulders press together, knees too, under the table.  It’s a thrill, one he’s missed, one that sets his pulse racing again and his dick hardening.  Gene’s being more obvious this time around.  Back in the seventies he knew there was always a feeling for Gene of it being wrong, being dirty even though he knew in his heart that it wasn’t.  Society hasn’t changed that much but Gene apparently has.  And Sam’s going to take everything he can get.

If Ray notices his Guv’s musical chair when he gets back to the table he doesn’t say anything, just sits down and picks up his pint.  It’s almost like old times, just the music’s different.

~

Gene glances up and rolls his eyes, seeing Sam still standing in the doorway of his flat like suddenly after all the kissing in his office and the touching at Luigi’s, he’s gone all shy.  “Get in, you nonce.”  When Sam still hesitates, he sighs softly.  “You’re still – always – welcome.”  As if he hasn’t spent the last three hours making that abundantly clear.

He steps over the threshold and closes the door behind him.  Finally!  “It’s been a long time.”

“Well, I’ve had a couple of one night stands, couple of over-priced prozzies when I got desperate.  People like you don’t come along very often.  I don’t fancy men as a general rule...”  He stops, catching the raised eyebrows and half-smiling mouth.  “That’s not what you meant, is it?”

“Not quite.”  He’s relieved when Sam goes off snooping around.  “It’s not what I’d have expected, Guv.”  

“What did you expect?”  In Manchester it had been a semi, in London he can’t afford a semi.  “It’s a flat.  I’ll give you the tour.”  It isn’t large, but he’s hardly ever here.  Lounge with a brown leather suite that came with the flat, kitchen with original fittings, bathroom in blue and white, bedroom with mirrored wardrobes and a large double bed.  Best investment he ever made.  Not that it’s seen much action, like he said. 

Sam looks at the bed for a long time.  “I didn’t know if you’d still be... I mean, I know we said....  But it has been a long time for you and if you don’t....”  It’s time to shut him up, so Gene grabs him by the shoulders, manhandles him into the room, turns him on the spot and pushes him back to the unmade sheets.

“Nothing’s changed.”  Gene states as he starts to take off his tie, putting his right knee on the mattress to one side of Sam’s legs.  Shaking his head slowly, Sam reaches for him, fist in his shirt, and Gene lets himself fall as he’s pulled down.

 

Twenty minutes later he’s yelling into the phone.  “This had better be life or death!” 

Sam’s face is against his chest, the huff of his breath tickling the little hairs there as he laughs.  Git.  They’re lying half naked, shirts off, flies undone, dicks out, more randy than Hugh Heffner on party night and Sam’s laughing.  The man has no sense of occasion whatsoever.

“It’s a stabbing, Guv,” Drake’s telling him unapologetically over the phone, and Gene doesn’t care, isn’t impressed, because Sam is so fucking distracting.

“Deal with it!”

“It’s a bad one, Guv.”

“I don’t care, Bolly!  Are you a DI or not?  Earn yer stripes, woman.”  Sam’s stopped laughing and is sucking on a nipple and it’s getting impossible to concentrate on anything else. 

“And what’s so important that you can’t get out of bed?” she asks, voice thick with sarcasm and Gene loses the last thread of control over his temper.  

“I’m getting my duck sicked – I mean, dick sucked.  That’s what’s so important!”  The call ends abruptly from her side and Gene drops the receiver over the side of the bed, ignoring the faint beeping sound, threading his fingers back into Sam’s hair and moaning his appreciation as he dismisses all other thought.  What does he care if he doesn’t have a job in the morning because Drake’s shot her mouth off?  

He’s got Sam back, and Sam is – as he has been for so long – Gene’s very reason for breathing.


End file.
